The Spirit and the Flesh
by Allaine
Summary: Six months later, Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn have finally returned to Gotham. Unfortunately, so has a legendary killer, one who preys on the guilty.
1. Chapter One

Title: The Spirit and the Flesh (1/??)  
  
Author: Allaine  
  
Email: eac2nd@yahoo.com  
  
Disclaimers: Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy, along with the other residents of Gotham, are the property of DC Comics, the creators of "Batman: The Animated Series", and God knows who else. All other characters are my invention. And if you have a problem with women who love each other, then this story is not for you.  
  
Feedback: As always, greatly desired and usually responded to.  
  
Rating: R  
  
Spoilers: I strongly recommend you read "Wrath", "It's Just Allergies", "Life Don't Have to be No Bed of Roses", and "Perfect Opportunity" first.  
  
Distribution: If you want it, just ask.  
  
Summary: Six months later, Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn have finally returned to Gotham. Unfortunately, so has a legendary killer, one who preys on the guilty.  
  
_______________________________  
  
Chapter 1  
  
She closed and locked the door behind her, another fun-filled day exploring the Athenian countryside over. Greece was a lovely country, but she was growing weary of it, much as she grew weary of every country she visited. Perhaps something appropriate, something on the other end of the spectrum. Istanbul evoked mystery in her mind . . .  
  
She went over to the answering machine, but in the dark, she couldn't see it, which was odd. A red light, either blinking or steady, should have guided her toward it. She felt her way over and, with her hand, felt something lying on top of it. Perplexed, she reached over and turned the lamp on.  
  
A death's head glared implacably back at her.  
  
She gasped and backed away. Someone, she realized, had broken into her apartment and put that skeletal mask on her -  
  
Feeling inordinately frightened now, she went towards it again. It wasn't an ordinary mask, she saw now with dismay. It was . . .  
  
She was leaving. She was leaving _now_.  
  
"Ms. Beaumont?"  
  
With a cry she spun around.  
  
Another light was turned on, not by her, and she realized there were three other people in the room with her. How had they gone unnoticed?  
  
There was an older man seated in one of her more comfortable chairs who gazed at her with searing, impenetrable eyes. Two others loomed protectively behind him. One was a mountain of a man with a shaved head who stared back impassively, arms crossed. The other was a mere slip of a woman who carried an air of exoticism and danger. And while she didn't know why, this strange woman appeared to eye her with dislike.  
  
"Who - who are you?" she asked fearfully. "And why did you call me that name?"  
  
"It's your name, isn't it?" the older man replied. "Beaumont, Andrea Beaumont?"  
  
"My name is Doris Montclaire," she retorted, even as her heart hammered in her chest. She knew she was trapped.  
  
"You were very hard to find, Ms. Beaumont," he continued, ignoring her reply as if unworthy of mention. "_Very_ hard. Evidently not even the Detective could find you. But I did. Sooner or later, all knowledge comes to me."  
  
"What do you want?" Andrea asked, wondering if he was a Greek police inspector, perhaps. Interpol, maybe?  
  
He smiled. It was utterly lacking in warmth. "I want you. I want the Phantasm."  
  
She gasped, no longer bothering with pretense. "The Phantasm is dead," she said quickly. "It never lived to begin with."  
  
"And yet, here you are, alive," he replied. "All my research has led me here to you. It is you, out of all those who have faced the Detective, fought him. Only you have never been brought to justice."  
  
"The Detective?" Andrea asked, thoroughly bewildered.  
  
"Why, Batman, of course. Or you may know him better as Bruce Wayne."  
  
_How did he know that?_  
  
"I know Bruce Wayne," Andrea admitted, since it wasn't exactly a secret. (The fact that she was Andrea Beaumont _was_ a secret, but this strange man had found her anyway.) "Knew him, anyway. I don't know you, though," she added, evading the "Batman" remark. "Who are you?"  
  
"I apologize. After all these years, my manners have been known to slip now and then," he said. "My name is Ra's al-Ghul. This is my servant, Ubu, and my daughter Talia."  
  
She looked at the trio. "I'm sorry," she said truthfully, "but I've never heard of you."  
  
He laughed briefly. "Well, now you have the privilege of knowing me. Much as I suspect you have the privilege of knowing who Batman is. You were his lover once. You faced him again as the Phantasm. The authorities know Andrea Beaumont is the Phantasm, even if they do believe you are dead. How could they know, unless Batman told them? And how could Batman know, unless you told him?"  
  
Ra's al-Ghul stopped. "Whether you knew or not is immaterial. You know now, but you will never tell anyone. What matters is that you will be returning to Gotham."  
  
"What?!" Andrea said, shocked. "I'm under arrest?!"  
  
He laughed for real this time, and he clapped his hands. "You take me for a police officer?" he asked mirthfully. "Oh, my dear, I am no lawman. I should have spoken more clearly. What I really want is for the Phantasm to return to Gotham. You see, there are a few people there who you should have killed the first time."  
  
She backed away. "No," she said. "I won't kill again. And I won't wear that mask again. You can't make me."  
  
"I can hand you over to the authorities," al-Ghul replied. "I can make what the Americans call a 'citizen's arrest'. Or Talia could do it." He looked at his daughter fondly. "Your beloved Bruce would thank you for such a gift, would he not?"  
  
"As a proper gentleman, I have no doubt he would," Talia spoke for the first time. She had a musical, vaguely foreign voice that pleased the ears.  
  
Andrea now understood why Talia seemed to dislike her immediately. Both women loved, or had loved, Bruce. Did Talia see her as _competition_?  
  
"And I can make you do whatever I want," he added. "Ubu."  
  
Unlike Talia, he said nothing. He only came toward Andrea.  
  
She turned to run, but he seemed to come up behind her impossibly quickly and applied pressure to the back of her neck. Andrea's vision darkened immediately.  
  
The last thing she saw was Ra's standing over her. "I think you will find," he said calmly, the Phantasm mask in his hand, "this still fits perfectly."  
  
Andrea would have screamed as she felt the old, familiar disguise being fitted on, as her world was limited to a pair of narrow eyeholes before she mercifully lost all consciousness.  
  
______________________  
  
"You will not come to Gotham, father?" Talia asked. She looked at the woman on the floor and thought, not for the first time, that she looked nothing like the never-apprehended killer of several Gotham Mafia figures. The mask didn't make her look scary. She made the mask look comical.  
  
"No," he replied. "You will monitor her performance, my daughter. You will train her so that she is once again ready to bring the Phantasm back from the river Styx. And you will make sure she is up to the task."  
  
Talia suppressed a sigh and nodded. She would be able to see her beloved again, at least. And if this plan succeeded, there could be no more excuses. He would have to be with her always.  
  
She scowled at Andrea. What had Bruce seen in her?  
  
"Ubu, we will take her to the plane. Make sure her things are kept safe for now. If she is successful," Ra's observed, "there is no reason why she should not have them returned to her. But we can't have anyone thinking her disappearance wasn't her idea."  
  
Ubu nodded and picked Andrea up, cradling her in his brawny arms.  
  
"Come, Talia. Soon the Phantasm will make the Batman irrelevant."  
  
"And if she doesn't?"  
  
"Then you will kill her."  
  
Talia nodded. That was more to her liking.  
  
________________________  
  
"Easy does it, men," Commissioner Gordon warned them as he supervised the "lowering". "Bet this place feels just like home."  
  
The latter remark was directed at the shadowy figure who had emerged next to him. Gordon never could sense him coming, but he'd long stopped being startled to find the Batman where he hadn't been a moment before.  
  
"Who was responsible?" Batman asked.  
  
"Not sure yet," Gordon replied. "Whoever it was disabled the security cameras. And as far as we know, nothing was taken. It was either one very strong individual, though, or a gang. Not just anybody could have done that."  
  
"That" was a frightened security guard at the Gotham Zoo who had been bound, gagged, and suspended upside-down from the top of one of the animal exhibits with ropes and a pulley. Undoubtedly the commotion had spooked all the bats, but they now appeared to be roosting comfortably in their usual spots, avoiding the policemen milling around. A few had been disturbed yet again as a few officers carefully lowered him to the ground.  
  
"We think it might have been the Joker," Gordon added, "since not many people would leave you a Christmas present like that, wrapped in red ribbons."  
  
"He's passed out, sir," one of the officers said as the paramedics checked him out on the ground. "Probably scared out of his wits."  
  
"And there was this," another said, handing over a broad, white card that had been folded in two. "It was attached to the ribbon like gift wrapping."  
  
On the outside it said, "To Batman, From Santa".  
  
"Well?" Gordon asked.  
  
Batman said nothing, but mutely held out his hand. Examining the card for hidden booby traps, he experimentally opened it face down. No gases or powders came out. With no more trepidation, he turned it over and read it.  
  
"Oh, no," he muttered.  
  
"What?" Gordon asked.  
  
"It's definitely not the Joker." He gave it to Gordon.  
  
The commissioner stared at the contents.  
  
"Dear Batman,  
  
Maybe if you hung a few things on your walls at the little cave sweet cave, you'd smile more often.  
  
So let us cheer you up, chump!  
  
Love, Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn"  
  
"Damn them," Gordon said. "We had a deal. They leave Gotham and never come back, period."  
  
"It's been six months," Batman replied. "I'm only surprised this didn't come sooner."  
  
Gordon sighed. "Well, it was six months where life was a _little_ easier, anyway."  
  
There had been zero reports of either woman since they'd left Gotham, Batman reflected. Nothing from Oracle, nothing from the Watchtower, nothing.  
  
It had been relaxing.  
  
He clenched and unclenched his fist. He thought about what would happen tonight, and he knew he was going to need it.  
  
To be continued . . .  
  
(Author's Note - First, this story is inspired by the first five issues of the new "animated" Gotham Adventures comic book. Familiarity with these issues, however, is not required, or even recommended. Familiarity with "Batman: Mask of the Phantasm", however, would be a big help.  
  
Second, as some of you know, Harley and Ivy drove out of Gotham and into my Gargoyles series. This, however, is an alternate world. What if they hadn't gone to NYC, and what if they'd inevitably returned? So while you should definitely have read "Wrath", "It's Just Allergies", "Life Don't Have to be No Bed of Roses", and "Perfect Opportunity", their adventures in the Gargoyles stories and "Kiss From a Rose" have never and will never happen in this universe.) 


	2. Chapter Two

Title: The Spirit and the Flesh (2/??)  
  
Author: Allaine  
  
Email: eac2nd@yahoo.com  
  
Disclaimers: Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy, along with the other residents of Gotham, are the property of DC Comics, the creators of "Batman: The Animated Series", and God knows who else. All other characters are my invention. And if you have a problem with women who love each other, then this story is not for you. Feedback: As always, greatly desired and usually responded to.  
  
Rating: R Spoilers: I strongly recommend you read "Wrath", "It's Just Allergies", "Life Don't Have to be No Bed of Roses", and "Perfect Opportunity" first.  
  
Distribution: If you want it, just ask.  
  
Summary: Six months later, Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn have finally returned to Gotham. Unfortunately, so has a legendary killer, one who preys on the guilty.  
  
_______________________________  
  
Chapter 2  
  
"Years as the traveling socialite have not served you well," Talia said witheringly as she stood over Andrea. "You have let yourself become soft."  
  
"Maybe if you let me wear the suit," Andrea muttered as she got up. Talia did not offer a hand, as usual, and by now Andrea wouldn't have accepted it if she had. She was sore in so many places, after three days and nights of intense physical training, that those few places that _weren't_ sore felt the strangest of all.  
  
Talia smirked. "Oh, so now you wish to wear the suit?" she asked. "When we first arrived, you refused to don the mask again."  
  
"That was before I wanted to kick your ass this badly," Andrea retorted, although she cringed inwardly. She _did_ want to wear the Phantasm suit again, but only because of the edge it would afford her over a woman who'd been fighting all her life. Still, did that mean she was regressing to that dark point in her life when killing was a simple little thing?  
  
"Yes, revenge is an emotion that fires your blood, isn't it?" Talia asked quietly, and this time Andrea's flinch was visible. "Still, that is another reason why I cannot allow you to become the Phantasm in such uncontrolled circumstances. It wouldn't do if you were able to melt into smoke, would it?"   
  
Talia then smiled. "My father's scientists explained that ingenious trick to me when they reinvented your disguise, complete with all its wonders and a few new ones. And I tried it once myself. And yet, even now, I do not fully understand how it works. But it does, and it is a wondrous thing to see."  
  
"I can show you now, if you want," Andrea responded, not about to offer details. If a team of scientists couldn't explain it to this woman, she certainly wasn't going to.  
  
Instead of answering, Talia spun on the heel of one foot and launched a kick toward Andrea's face that could have broken her nose if she hadn't instinctively put both hands up and blocked it.  
  
"Very nice," Talia now said. "When it becomes instinct like that, you might have a chance. Maybe I can tell what my beloved saw in you."  
  
"Stop bringing it up," Andrea said hotly. "And stop calling him 'beloved'. Christ, I'm sick to death of that word! Can't you call him something else? How about his name?"  
  
Talia glared at her. "Obviously you could never understand a love like ours."  
  
"Just stuff it, all right?" Andrea said. "You think he'll love you after I _kill_ a few people? You're like a cat bringing a dead mole to its owner! And let me make two things clear. One, Bruce and I are over, done. If you think I wandered the globe because I could take no pleasure in things as I pined for my love," she said melodramatically, "then you definitely haven't heard the expression 'move on'. Although perhaps you should."  
  
The Demon's daughter looked bored. "And the other thing?"  
  
"The other thing is he didn't love me because I was able to block a kick," Andrea pointed out. "Unlike some people, I wasn't brought up to be an assassin. He loved me, and I loved him, for those little things you obviously haven't heard of. You know, chemistry, common interests, being able to make each other laugh, enjoying each other's company. I realize your father is from an era when people just had their parents arrange marriages for them," she added, although actually she still questioned the concept that Talia's father was several centuries old as claimed. "Maybe what you need is couples therapy."  
  
"Oh, so you weren't brought up to be an assassin?" Talia asked, sneering. "You did a pretty good job of it, you know."  
  
Andrea would have flushed if she weren't already red from the exertion. "You're right, I did," she confessed. "And because I couldn't stop, I lost Bruce for the second time. I said we're over, but I'd be lying if I said I don't regret what happened the last time I left Gotham. Which is why the Joker is still alive."  
  
Talia nodded. "Many believed he was dead. He was gone many days, but he's certainly there now."  
  
"I wish he were," Andrea said. "I hate that man with every fiber of my being. I hurt him badly years ago, but for Bruce, I couldn't kill him." She rested her hands on her hips. "Speaking of which, who am I expected to kill anyway? I haven't been told anything."  
  
"Well," Talia replied, "it's ironic you should say that you let the Joker live for Bruce. Because you're going to kill him this time - him, and every other freakish maniac in that city."  
  
Andrea was thrown for a loss. "All of them? Your father is the maniac! Why doesn't he do it?"  
  
"Batman has beaten my father's operatives again, and again, and again. Father has decided to try a different approach. Since it's something you have experience with, and since he believes you are dead, Batman may have less luck."  
  
"But why?" she asked. "Your father is a criminal. He has more in common with the hit list than he does with Batman! What does he hope to accomplish? Eliminate the competition?"  
  
Talia snorted. "Please, they are not my father's competition. They are not even in my father's league. It is merely a gift."  
  
"A gift?!"  
  
"Yes. It is those 'Rogues' who keep my beloved trapped in Gotham year after year, always saving the people there from their insane plots. With them dead, he can refuse me no longer when I offer him myself, and the inheritance of my father's domain."  
  
From the simple manner in which Talia spoke, Andrea saw that she was telling the truth, and that she believed with a thousand convictions that it would happen.  
  
When love was that crazy, it was called "obsession".  
  
"So I'll do the killing, and you'll take the glory?" Andrea asked. "How positively Wagnerian."  
  
Talia smiled peacefully, no doubt still captivated by the vision of a future with Batman. "I would do it myself, but my father would not endanger me so."  
  
She wasn't ready for Andrea's kick, which doubled her over as it connected with her stomach.  
  
"If you think I'm not dangerous, you'd better change your mind," Andrea said calmly.  
  
Talia composed herself, and then laughed. "Excellent!" she said. "Tomorrow we can begin the plan in earnest."  
  
Andrea didn't want to kill again, but she didn't want to go to jail. She hadn't wanted to wear the costume again, either, and now she did. How else might her desires change in the days to come?  
  
_______________________________  
  
"Don't get me wrong, I love orchids, and it's only proper that they be worshipped the way you do," Poison Ivy said into the microphone. "But have you ever considered what you're doing?"  
  
"It's like Beanie Babies for them," Harley said over her shoulder, keeping three security personnel at bay with an overly large handgun.  
  
Ivy picked up the book she'd taken from a display. "_The Orchid Thief_," she said as she stood at the podium before more than three hundred people who had gathered to hear an expert speak at the Gotham Orchid Show. Poison Ivy had not been the expert anyone was expecting. "The story of a man who uproots rare, defenseless orchids from their secluded homes so he can mass-produce them for you," she continued, pointing at all of them. "If some of them have to die in transit, well, that's the price orchids have to pay. You treat them like icons today, but the losses they suffer getting here!"  
  
"You tell 'em, Red," Harley said cheerfully.  
  
"I should just kill you all, really," Ivy told them, and an already nervous crowd stiffened. "I should kill you, liberate these flowers, and leave."  
  
"But we're not."  
  
"That's right, Harley, we're not."  
  
The people looked as if they wanted to relax, but they weren't sure if they should.  
  
"If I steal these flowers, everyone will say, 'Oh, Poison Ivy just had to have those orchids!' Then their value will double, and people will look harder than ever. If you love these flowers so much, can't you just leave them alone?" Ivy paused. "Thank you, you've been a wonderful audience, and remember, plants are people too!"  
  
Then she handed the microphone back to the middle-aged woman she'd taken it from. "Let's go, Harley."  
  
Harley fired at the security guards, and they were sprayed with multi-colored confetti that sparkled under the overhead lighting. "Now you can blend in widda moichandize," she said with a fake accent. She laughed gaily, tossed the gun aside, and kissing Ivy on the cheek, ran with her out the back way.  
  
"That was naughty, Harl," Ivy purred as they stopped in a dark hallway, leaving behind what could only be a very confused murmur.  
  
"Yep, that's us, sexy and naughty," Harley said, eyes twinkling.  
  
"If that didn't overheat Batman's wiring, I don't know what will," Ivy said.  
  
__________________________  
  
"Let me get this straight," Detective Renee Montoya said. "When they burst in, Harley Quinn pulled a gun, and Poison Ivy took the microphone. Ivy then gave an impromptu speech, Quinn shot a bunch of security guards with harmless confetti, and then they escaped without taking anything?"  
  
"She did say we deserved to die," the show organizer told her. "But then she called them a wonderful audience, too."  
  
Montoya looked at Bullock. "What was this, a crime or performance art?"  
  
"Who cares?" Bullock asked. "They violated their probation agreement, they broke into a zoo and tied up a guard, and then they pointed a gun at a bunch of people. We find them, we lock them up, easy."  
  
"I know that," Montoya said, exasperated. "But how does Poison Ivy go into a flower show, and then not take any flowers? Okay, she's crazy, fine, but at least she's predictable."  
  
"Would you be happier if they'd shot a few people?"  
  
Renee sighed. "Poison Ivy," she muttered. "Wanted for speaking in public without a license."  
  
______________________  
  
"Ouch!" Andrea put her hand to her neck and felt the thin metal collar that hadn't been there before. She'd known being told to close her eyes while they were putting the Phantasm suit on her for her first extended trial was going to lead to something unpleasant. "What the hell is this?"  
  
"I told you, we can't trust you not to try to escape with that," Talia told her. "If you disappear without reappearing within the confines of this room, this device will tell us where you are. It will also deliver a painful electric shock if I wish it." She pushed a button on a small metal rod in her hand.  
  
The pain from that jolt was worse than the pain she'd felt having the collar put on, and Andrea screamed.  
  
"Believe me when I tell you that I won't use this if you don't make me," Talia said.  
  
"Who cares what I believe?" Andrea asked sarcastically. "I'm just the girl in the suit, right?"  
  
Talia didn't respond. She just gave the rod to one of the DEMON agents who had accompanied them to this secluded base of operations an hour's drive from Gotham.  
  
"Wait, where are you going?" Andrea now asked, surprised.  
  
"It is now early morning," Talia said, "and I'm going to pay someone a visit."  
  
"Beloved?" Andrea replied mockingly, but she would have preferred it if Talia oversaw the test run. These other men hid their faces with masks of their own, and she didn't trust them. She didn't trust Talia either, but after several days of physical and verbal sparring, she felt safer with her than with Ra's' goons.  
  
Talia turned to leave, and Andrea would have said more - might even have asked her to stay a little longer, to be honest - but the mask was placed over her head and her speech was temporarily muffled. When her eyesight adjusted to the limited vision permitted by the Phantasm mask, she saw Talia was gone.  
  
Andrea Beaumont was gone as well. In her place, from the reflection in the mirrors along one wall, was a dark figure that looked slightly out of place in the bright room. Someone dimmed the lights, though, and the Phantasm became a more fittingly ominous, even deathly figure.  
  
She looked at the serrated claw fitted snugly over one hand and shuddered. How was jail worse than this?  
  
The DEMON man with the zapper looked at her. "I do not think the great one's daughter likes you very much," he said.  
  
"And I bet this is the first time you've held something so long and hard in your hand," she said in the Phantasm's voice, gesturing to the device he held in his hand.  
  
He scowled. "I do not like you either," he replied before shocking her.  
  
But it would not be for another forty-five minutes before a jolt (had it been the sixth or the seventh?) drove her to one knee.  
  
_________________________  
  
Bruce Wayne usually read the newspaper downstairs, but since he would be dining in his bed for a few reasons that morning, he went down to the library to get it.  
  
"Beloved."  
  
He was just beginning to bend over the paper when he heard the happy murmur from behind, and the hairs stood up on the back of his neck. He was rarely surprised from behind, but in his own home, he didn't expect it quite so much.  
  
"Talia," he said, controlling his flash of anger as he turned around, clutching the paper in one hand.  
  
She was beautiful. Bruce had never denied her that. He'd never denied any of her charms. But the love she offered with those charms became easier to deny when she betrayed him over and over again.  
  
Considering the recent turns his life had made, the only reason he wasn't taking her by one arm - not even waiting to summon Alfred, who she had somehow evaded - and shoving her out the front door was the chance that she might have information about her father.  
  
True, she generally allowed Ra's to spring his traps first, and only waited until Batman or innocent people were in danger before offering assistance, but he could be patient.  
  
"It has been a long time, Bruce," Talia said. "You look well."  
  
If she wasn't going to make a point very shortly, he was going to throw her out anyway. Ra's could play his games without him.  
  
"Do you want something, Talia?" he asked, tired.  
  
She smiled brilliantly. "I only wished to inform you that I am in Gotham again, and that if you wanted to meet some time . . ."  
  
"Try a phone call, it's what other people do when they visit," Bruce said coldly. She was bothering him for _this_?  
  
"Your butler is very formidable," Talia said. "When I call, you never seem to be home."  
  
"Alfred has nothing to do with it, Talia," he replied, and for the first time she looked disconcerted. "If you broke into my home just so you could leave your card, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. And whatever scheme you're carrying out in Gotham, you'd better stop before you even try."  
  
"Beloved, why do you speak to me so?"  
  
Bruce saw her coming first, and he sighed. This was going to be ugly.  
  
"So she still thinks you're the stars in a James Bond movie, huh?"  
  
It was Talia's turn to be surprised from behind, and the look of pure shock written on her face was worth the morning to Bruce. So some things still got through to her.  
  
Selina Kyle smiled coolly as she entered the library in - he had a robe for her to wear, so she must have chosen to come down wrapped only in a king-sized bedsheet for effect. "Which is it this time?" she continued. "Is this _Goldfinger_, when Pussy Galore sprays the troops with harmless gas? Or is this _Live and Let Die_, with you as Jane Seymour?" She walked over to Bruce and pecked him on the cheek. "You see, Talia, what you've failed to grasp is that when the bad Bond girl switches sides in the second half of the movie, she doesn't switch back after the credits roll."  
  
Talia finally gathered her wits and rounded on Bruce. "How could you?" she asked. "Her, a common thief!"  
  
"Instead of you, the common murderer?" Bruce said icily, and Talia looked as if she'd been slapped.  
  
She mustered one last attack, however. "So she found out," she said. "Did she use that to get into your bed?"  
  
The smile was wiped off Selina's face completely, and she took a step toward Talia. Bruce stopped her, though.  
  
"It's better this way," he told Talia. "If I'd simply told you I was involved with Catwoman, you wouldn't have believed me. But now you see the truth, and you have no one to blame but yourself."  
  
"Please," Talia said desperately. "You can't . . ."  
  
"Go, Talia. The next time you decide your father's gone too far, contact someone else. Better yet, do something about it yourself," Bruce warned her.  
  
Trembling not with rage, but with a concerted effort not to fall to the floor, Talia turned away and slowly walked out.  
  
"You know," Selina said more calmly when she was gone, "the 'common thief' line stopped bothering me a long time ago. Like being a thief somehow made me less of a woman compared to the psychopaths and killers in the world, including her and her pops."  
  
"Besides, you're an exceptional thief," he murmured, even though the Bat inside of him raised its eyebrows at that remark.  
  
She patted his cheek. "You're so sweet." Her mood soured again. "For her to imply that I need to blackmail a man to get him into _bed_ - the next time I see her in my claws, I am going to - "  
  
"Forget it," Bruce told her. "The next time I see her, unless she's doing something patently illegal, I'd prefer to walk away." He handed her the paper. "You wanted the arts page?"  
  
___________________________  
  
Talia was surprised she had been able to drive back. Her body was so numb, she wasn't sure she could feel her feet anymore.  
  
She'd never truly believed the Kyle woman could be a threat to her. After all, she had the same handicap that Talia suffered from, a life of crime. Surely if Batman could ever look past that, he would turn to her, her who could offer him so much.  
  
Surely not that cheap hussy!  
  
Talia went to the training room where she'd left Andrea Beaumont (who she found it harder not to like - certainly that cat was a far graver danger to her than some girl he'd loved a lifetime ago), but found the suit there without her. "Where is she?" she asked another of her father's servants.  
  
"The test was almost perfect," he said calmly. "Saheed took her back to her room."  
  
She nodded. "Did they remove her collar?" she asked. It wasn't necessary for her to wear it "out of uniform". Perhaps if she applied herself to the work with sufficient vigor, and proved successful on her first few missions, they could forgo it entirely.  
  
"I don't believe so, no," the guard said.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Saheed felt it was necessary to punish her," he told her.  
  
She stared at him. "And why did _Saheed_ feel she should be punished?"  
  
He paled under his mask, but his loyalty was to the great one and his daughter, not another lowly man like himself. "She spoke disrespectfully to him, so - "  
  
Talia turned, her earlier horror washed away in rage. This was a very important mission, and one of her lackeys was going to damage the key to everything because his ego was _bruised_? She walked angrily to Beaumont's room.  
  
As she put her hand on the doorknob, she heard a noise inside. It sounded like . . .  
  
Now enraged, Talia opened the door so hard that it slammed against the wall and gouged a hole in the plaster.  
  
Saheed stood over Andrea, his nose gushing blood. She was writhing on the floor. "M-m-my lady," he stammered. "She assaulted me, tried to escape. I found it necessary - "  
  
Talia slapped him, and blood splattered on the wall. Then she took the rod from his hand and shoved him aside. "Andrea?" she asked, crouching over her.  
  
The only reply she got was a whimper. Unlocking the collar and removing it, she was stunned at the thick red band around her neck, as if she had just come from a date with a hangman's noose.  
  
"This," she hissed, looking at him and pointing at Andrea's neck, "could only have happened if she was shocked over and over again. How many times, you fool? Ten, a dozen, twenty?!" She went to the doorway. "GUARDS!!!"  
  
Three men quickly arrived, joining their comrade Saheed, who looked shell-shocked. "Take him away," Talia snarled, "and shoot him until he is not only dead, but unrecognizable. Then find a place where the animals can feed off his flesh."  
  
"No!" he pleaded as the other men instantly took him by the arms and began dragging him out. "I am loyal! I am loyal!"  
  
"Why do you think we are here?!" she demanded angrily. "For a vacation? She is why we are here, and you have set us back who knows how long!" Talia turned from them. "I have no interest in anything he has to say. Do as I command. I trust some of you know how to obey."  
  
She closed the door to muffle his shouts as he was pulled away. He could have been easily incapacitated, but it was better if he felt the bullets.  
  
Talia glanced at the collar, then at Andrea. Impulsively, she threw the collar against the wall and stamped on it with her foot until it sparked and shorted out.  
  
Then she went back to Andrea and helped her onto her bed. The woman was completely dazed, and Talia wondered how long those marks would stay around her neck. She wondered how coherent she would be when the sun set.  
  
Sighing, Talia summoned her medical team. "So Bruce thinks he has 'moved on', as you put it, from both of us. It would appear," she said, looking at the woman who had mercifully passed out, and thinking of that shameless Kyle in her state of undress, "that we are sisters today."   
  
To be continued . . . 


	3. Chapter Three

Title: The Spirit and the Flesh (3/??)  
  
Author: Allaine  
  
Email: eac2nd@yahoo.com  
  
Disclaimers: Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy, along with the other residents of Gotham, are the property of DC Comics, the creators of "Batman: The Animated Series", and God knows who else. All other characters are my invention. And if you have a problem with women who love each other, then this story is not for you. Feedback: As always, greatly desired and usually responded to.  
  
Rating: R Spoilers: I strongly recommend you read "Wrath", "It's Just Allergies", "Life Don't Have to be No Bed of Roses", and "Perfect Opportunity" first.  
  
Distribution: If you want it, just ask.  
  
Summary: Six months later, Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn have finally returned to Gotham. Unfortunately, so has a legendary killer, one who preys on the guilty.  
  
_______________________________  
  
Chapter 3  
  
"I agree, daughter, it is truly appalling," Ra's al-Ghul assured Talia over the secure phone line.  
  
She wiped away a tear. "What can she offer him? What possible advantage can she bring him that I cannot? How is it he suddenly doesn't care if the woman he's sleeping with is a criminal, but he chooses _her_?"  
  
"Perhaps she has sworn off stealing," her father cunningly suggested. "You know how the detective has long relished the thought of making a so-called honest woman out of you."  
  
"If that is the case," Talia sniffed, "then their relationship is thankfully doomed. Thieves like her live on the thrill. She will not stop until her withered limbs no longer permit her to."  
  
"Indeed," he mused. "You know," he added idly, "I could always add her name to the Phantasm's list."  
  
Talia would be lying - something she was very good at, by the way - if she said the idea had not occurred to her. "Thank you, father, but no," she answered. "If she dies now, my beloved will see her as being taken from him, and he will mourn her memory the way he mourns his parents. Better to let the relationship take its natural course, and when he sees her for the gutter trash she is in a month or two, he will come to me!"  
  
She paused and craned her head. "You will have to excuse me, father," she went on, "but now that you mention the Phantasm, Ms. Beaumont is finally stirring. I must see to her."  
  
"It was a good decision of you to have that man killed," Ra's told her. "For one of my servants to disregard our orders because he feels slighted - Man, thy name is Ego," he said piously.  
  
"Woman, thy name is Unworthy of Ruling When I Die," Talia ungenerously thought to herself, but she didn't say that, and in fact mentally chastised herself for thinking such a thing.  
  
If only he would grant her that, though!  
  
"The doctors say she will not suffer any lasting medical consequences," she said. "She should be ready to proceed within a day or two."  
  
"Good," he replied. "And maybe I could see if there is some small, harmless manner in which Miss Kyle could be caused some vexation?" he suggested in the teasing way of a father offering his daughter a new trinket.  
  
"That might be nice," Talia admitted. "Thank you father, and good-bye."  
  
When she arrived at Andrea's bedside, she noticed with satisfaction that the redness had faded slightly. Talia poured a glass of water and sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for the other woman to come to her senses.  
  
"Unhhh . . ." Andrea muttered through cracked lips, putting a hand to her forehead.  
  
"Here, drink," Talia said in a tone that was light and yet brooked no dissent. She moved the cup toward Andrea's mouth, and she drank some of the water. "I'm told you tried to escape."  
  
Andrea's eyes focused on her, and her gaze hardened. "You would have tried too," she said harshly, "after getting jolted by . . ." She lowered her hand and felt her neck, as if to confirm the collar was gone.  
  
"I removed it when I returned," Talia told her. "I needed to check your injuries. The man with you was also injured, you know."  
  
Andrea smiled bitterly. "You taught me too well," she replied. "I struck him with the heel of my palm. I think I may have broken his nose. Did I?"  
  
"I do not know," Talia said easily. "I had him executed."  
  
"You what?"  
  
"You are the reason we are here," she pointed out. "For one of my lackeys to torture you in that manner because you insulted him was completely unacceptable."  
  
She offered the cup again, but Andrea surprised her by pushing the cup away with such force that she spilled half the contents onto the floor. "He was a sadistic bastard," Andrea whispered, "but at least he was honest. You're like the witch in Hansel & Gretel. You're just fattening me up so you can use me."  
  
Talia regarded her impassively. Andrea did not know that she was to be killed if she failed in her mission, but she was no fool, and Talia wondered if she had guessed it yet. But who was she to care? Andrea was right. She was a tool, nothing more. "If you feel unappreciated, I could leave you with Batman. He loved you once, and I'm sure he'll be more than happy to see you again, Phantasm."  
  
She looked away.  
  
"Maybe I should just put the collar back on, if you are going to be more difficult now," Talia added.  
  
Andrea's head swiveled back, and now Talia could see the fear in her eyes. Saheed had taught her to fear the restraint, like Pavlov and his dogs. "Please, no," Andrea said, although Talia guessed that it galled her to say it.  
  
This young woman was no dog, and Talia was momentarily ashamed to have frightened her so spitefully. "Don't worry," Talia told her, even though it made more sense to hold the threat of the collar always in reserve. "I destroyed the necklace after I took it off."  
  
"You did?" Andrea asked suspiciously. "Why?"  
  
Talia shrugged her shoulders. "I was offended by what he did to you," she said. "You shouldn't have been punished for asserting the fire that, I confess, I have been trying to reawaken in you. After he was taken away, I took my anger out on the collar as well. The sight of it . . . it repulsed me."  
  
Andrea was silent for a moment. "Thank you," she finally said.  
  
Considering she'd accused Talia a minute ago of caring about her welfare only so she could be sent into battle, her gratitude was a surprise, but it pleased her. "You're welcome," she replied. "But if you try to escape, I will notify Batman, and when he finds out you have evaded justice all this time, he will stalk you down to the ends of the earth."  
  
She looked downcast now. "How is he?" she asked.  
  
Talia scowled. "He has taken a woman into his bed," she told her.  
  
"What, and you walked in on . . ." Andrea laughed quietly. "But he's always cultivated the image of the playboy. Why does that surprise you?"  
  
"It was not just any woman," Talia growled. "It was Selina Kyle."  
  
Andrea looked blankly at her for a moment. "Talia, as I told you, I haven't followed news in Gotham in several years. Who is she?"  
  
"You may have heard of her as Catwoman?"  
  
Obviously she had, for she gasped. "The burglar?"  
  
"The same," Talia said grimly. "She has enspelled him, but it cannot last."  
  
"Well," Andrea said. "I suppose you had better kill these people, then. What better way to say 'I love you' to a man in a relationship with some else, than to murder a group of people whom he has never killed, despite plenty of opportunities and justification?"  
  
Talia's eyes narrowed. "No, I suppose _you_ had better," she replied.  
  
Andrea closed her eyes. "I don't have to think about that for a day or two, right?"  
  
"No, I suppose not."  
  
"Then there's a silver lining in nearly being electrocuted, isn't it?"  
  
Talia chuckled as she left. To maintain one's sense of humor in the face of calamity showed strength of character.  
  
Once she was gone, Andrea dropped her face into her hands and wept.  
  
________________________  
  
"He's utterly insane!" the Phantasm said several nights later as she looked down through the skylight at the men in the warehouse below.  
  
"Need I remind you," Talia responded calmly, "that this is a common thread that runs among your targets?"  
  
The Phantasm looked self-consciously at the gleaming hook attached to one hand upon hearing the word "targets". Andrea Beaumont did not exist now. She was merely the mind behind the mask of the Phantasm.  
  
"The Ventriloquist is dangerous only because, even as the dummy channels his voice, it also channels his gift for daring heists," Talia reminded her with the tone of a college professor. "Often simple and straightforward, yes, but does the bull need to be complicated? It merely lowers its horns, charges, and destroys all."  
  
"He's a scrawny little man," the Phantasm said, having heard this more than once. "Why would they follow him? Why not just take the money and kill him?"  
  
"Scarface commands a certain degree of respect, oddly," Talia explained, sounding amused. "Also, he's much less likely to get his men killed, not like some other criminals. Like the Joker," she added.  
  
The Phantasm clenched a fist at the sound of the name. Perhaps if she were permitted to strike him first, it would be easier, because she still loathed the man. The Demon's Head, however, had concluded that it would be wisest to start with a relatively easy target. "Some of your future victims," Talia had told her, "are dangerous even without men. Killer Croc, for example, or Bane. Without his men, Scarface is virtually helpless. Take his men out, and he is yours."  
  
"Are you ready?" Talia asked quietly.  
  
Rising, the Phantasm regarded the other woman, her fine figure showcased in a trim black catsuit. Against the moon, she was ravishing. Otherwise, she would be perfectly hidden in the shadows, undetectable to (almost) all.  
  
Even the rifle she carried, telescope sight attached, seemed to inhale the light with its matte black finish. The Phantasm looked at the weapon and wondered not for the first time if her choices were kill the Rogues, or go to jail.  
  
"I wouldn't want you to try and escape," Talia added, noting the way her skull's-eyes strayed toward the rifle. "I did choose not to order another collar made, after all."  
  
"Why kill me?" the Phantasm asked. "I thought Batman would find me anyway."  
  
Talia only offered a Mona Lisa smile in response.  
  
The Phantasm turned away. She wasn't too worried about this first mission. True, it had been years, and the fire that had driven her to murder those Mob figures was not there now. But the costume was a virtual replica of the one she'd destroyed, plus a few changes. The modifications that increased her strength by 75%, for example, and the electrified gauntlet on her other hand.  
  
Plus, if the serrated hook didn't scare them, there was that titanium lightweight staff, compressed to one-third its full length, she wore under her cape on her back . . .  
  
And Scarface only had three men. They had guns, true, but bullets had long ago stopped worrying the Phantasm.  
  
"Wish me luck," the Phantasm said.  
  
"Good luck," Talia answered. Her tone was now completely serious.  
  
A few moments later, she was alone. "Breath-taking," Talia murmured.  
  
____________________   
  
"You sure you didn't hear nothin'?"  
  
"N-no, Mister Scarface. It was just the rats, probably."  
  
"Rats?!" Scarface barked, smacking the Ventriloquist. "I hate rats! I thought I told you to get rid of 'em! Rats, with their tiny little teeth that tear atcha . . . gurrowing into things . . ." Scarface trailed off, evidently having had a bad experience or two with rats. Being a two-foot-tall dummy made of wood and cloth probably had something to do with it.  
  
"We did, Mister Scarface," Arnold Wesker said nervously. "But they come back. They're always out there, sir."  
  
"Gah," Scarface muttered. "What'm I paying you mooks for? Don't come gack until I see some godies of rats with gullets in 'em, capisce?"  
  
Two of the three men sitting around muttered and got to their feet. "Why do we work for this guy again?" one of them whispered to the other.  
  
"For one thing, he doesn't make us wear costumes and facepaint," the other one pointed out.  
  
"Dirty little rodents," Scarface grumbled. "Sneakin' around like gats. That's what they is, gats widdout wings, and I hate gats even more than I hate rats."  
  
"How about worms?"  
  
The Ventriloquist leapt to his feet. "Who said that?" Scarface said, looking around. He glanced at Arnold. "You playing a prank on me, dummy?"  
  
"N-n-no, sir!"  
  
The next thing they saw was one of Scarface's men being flung out of the shadows and onto the floor. He twitched briefly and then lay still.  
  
Scarface pulled his miniature gun out. The bullets it fired were quite life-sized, however. "Speakin' of gats," he growled. "Come on out, Gatman, and I'll letcha die quick."  
  
A gray finger pointed out of the shadows in another part of the building. "Like rats, worms crawl on the ground in the mud and the filth," the sepulchrous voice went on.  
  
"There!" Scarface said, pointing where the finger had briefly appeared. His remaining henchman fired several times in that direction, but there was no answering cry, no sound of someone hitting the floor. There were only a few faint wisps of smoke.  
  
"When I find you, Gatman, I'm gonna fill you with so many holes, they'll make you into cheese!"  
  
"You think I'm Batman?"  
  
Scarface's last man was suddenly struck from behind in the knee, then jolted through the air and onto his stomach by a powerful blast of electricity.  
  
"Dummy, stop shakin' me!" Scarface warned the Ventriloquist, whose arm was shaking with fright.  
  
"S-sorry, sir."  
  
"I suppose you haven't heard of me. I was before your time, after all. You're just a rookie, an amateur."  
  
"Gullshit!" Scarface yelled, firing in the direction he thought the voice had come from. "You're talkin' to Scarface, and ain't nogody getter than me!"  
  
"Uh, Mister Scarface?"  
  
"What?!"  
  
He pointed down with his free hand, and Scarface looked down. There was smoke blowing past the Ventriloquist's feet, and it was coming from behind them.  
  
"Turn around!"  
  
Arnold did, but as soon as he did, the doll was torn from his hands. "Mister Scarface!"  
  
"Dummy, you idiot!" Scarface said, although it seemed even more ludicrous coming from a dummy whose mouth hung slack.  
  
The ire of his "boss" was something the Ventriloquist dreaded immensely, but he was forgotten as Arnold stared at the owner of the hand that had taken the doll.  
  
"I," the voice said, "am the Phantasm."  
  
Scarface was rendered mute by Arnold's gibbering at the sight of the wicked-looking hook that rested inches below his chin. And when the Phantasm once more activated the electricity in its right glove, Scarface caught fire, and his burning remains were allowed to fall to the floor.  
  
"No, Mister Scarface!" the Ventriloquist screamed, the horror breaking the lock on his throat.  
  
"It's over," the Phantasm told him. "Your worm of an 'employer' never need fear rats ever again. He slithers no more."  
  
"It's not over."  
  
The Phantasm's head jerked slightly. Talia's cool voice came in via a microphone in her mask. She had not been aware of its existence.  
  
"The Scarface doll has been destroyed many times, Phantasm," Talia said, "and every time, Mr. Wesker has built him anew. It doesn't matter if you kill the dummy. You must also kill the man."  
  
The Phantasm grabbed the Ventriloquist by the shirt but did not zap him. Instead the hook pressed so closely to the man's chin that beads of blood appeared and dripped down the blade. "You must die now," it said uncertainly.  
  
"Please, it wasn't me," the Ventriloquist begged. "I just worked for the man, everything was his idea. Please don't kill me!"  
  
This man, Andrea realized, was completely mad. On some level, he must have known that the dummy was only that, a doll operated with levers. But to him, the doll was a life altogether, and he himself was its slave.  
  
Allowing one's demons to run one's life - there was a definition of madness, if there was one.  
  
It was also truly pathetic. The Phantasm was Andrea, but Andrea was not the Phantasm, and she could not kill this small, sad, miserable little man. Through the doll, Arnold Wesker had respect, but he'd never feel it.  
  
Conscious of the enormity of what she was doing, the Phantasm sighed and, taking the weapon away from his throat, clubbed him over the head with its heavy base. He fell like a sack of flour and did not stir.  
  
"I hope you're sparing him the pain of death, Phantasm," Talia said dangerously.  
  
"I won't kill him," Andrea said calmly. "I won't kill anyone. That's what makes us different, I guess."  
  
Talia snarled from her vantagepoint and looked through her sights. The Phantasm wasn't even trying to get away. Well, if she hoped that by not resisting, she would go to prison instead of being killed, she was wrong. Her father had left strict instructions. She would kill Andrea, and then as a little present to her traitorous, unworthy beloved, she would kill the Ventriloquist as well. Then he would realize how much he had to be grateful for her love!  
  
Her finger tightened on the trigger.  
  
Then her phone rang.  
  
"Shit!" Talia hissed.  
  
"What?" the Phantasm asked. Even now, she was still there!  
  
"Nothing," Talia said, having forgotten to turn the microphone on. She did so now, and answered the phone. "Hello?" she asked breathlessly.  
  
"Talia?"  
  
"Father?! Is this line secure?"  
  
"Of course," he replied, sounding faintly offended that she had even suggested he would use a line that wasn't secure. "How goes it?"  
  
"We are on our first mission, father," she said, unwilling to say the Phantasm had failed. It was her responsibility, and she would make this a success if she had to march down there, shove the gun into Andrea's back, and demand her to kill him. Then, at least, she could say the first mission had been a success. "What is it?"  
  
"Ah. Well, I have an addition to make to your list, daughter. When the Ventriloquist is dead, you are to make these next two names your next targets."  
  
"Understood . . . you didn't add Catwoman, did you?"  
  
"You said not to," he reminded her.  
  
"Good, just checking," she said. It wouldn't have been the first time he'd ignored her advice. "Who?"  
  
"Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn."  
  
Talia started. "But they're not even in Gotham!"  
  
"Not true. The press got wind of it a few days ago. I would have thought you heard."  
  
"No," she admitted ruefully. "With the Phantasm's injuries, I thought it prudent to focus on her training twice as much."  
  
"Well, they have pulled a number of low-profile pranks in the city, nothing life-threatening. Still, it must be a ruse to fool the police before they try something bigger. And they are longtime enemies of the Detective."  
  
"They almost worked for us, you remember," Talia told him. "In fact, you told me to offer Poison Ivy a job once more six months later, and it's about that time now."  
  
"I don't want her any more," Ra's said coldly. "Finish them both."  
  
Talia frowned. Miss Isley had said some very rude, presumptuous things the last time they met. This would be a just return of the favor.  
  
"And the Ventriloquist?" he added.  
  
She looked. The room was exactly the way it had been a minute before. "The Ventriloquist," she finally said, "has been neutralized." Talia wasn't about to let this mission flounder before it had started, not after the Phantasm had divided and conquered Scarface and his men so brilliantly. She permitted herself to feel pride in her student's work. She would be very sorry if Andrea failed to kill her target the next time and Talia had to shoot her.  
  
"Excellent," he said. "You should have the women's location when you return to the base of operations. Good night, daughter."  
  
"Good night, father."  
  
She turned the radio back on. "Congratulations, Phantasm."  
  
"Would you stop calling me that?!"  
  
"If you are to kill tomorrow night, it may be easier if you think of yourself as the Phantasm, not as Andrea Beaumont."  
  
"Tomorrow? But I didn't kill him tonight!"  
  
Talia almost pulled the trigger on the sad little man then, but she decided not to. Word of the Phantasm would leak out, and that might be a problem, but it would also frighten the Rogues, and fearful men did stupid things.  
  
Also, better to let her think she would live if she failed a second time. If she shot the Ventriloquist, Andrea would know a gun had in fact been trained on her the whole time.  
  
"You are to be given another chance," Talia said. "Maybe then you will be used to it."  
  
"Never," the Phantasm swore.  
  
"Be that as it may, we will return tomorrow night. And then you _will_ kill Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn, or I will do it for you."  
  
Andrea paused. "I've heard of Ivy, she's a rabid eco-terrorist. But who the hell is Harley Quinn?"  
  
Talia smiled wickedly. "Well, until a few months ago, she was the sidekick, devoted admirer, and lover of the Joker."  
  
"She was WHO?!"  
  
To be continued . . . 


	4. Chapter Four

Title: The Spirit and the Flesh (4/??)  
  
Author: Allaine  
  
Email: eac2nd@yahoo.com  
  
Disclaimers: Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy, along with the other residents of Gotham, are the property of DC Comics, the creators of "Batman: The Animated Series", and God knows who else. All other characters are my invention. And if you have a problem with women who love each other, then this story is not for you. Feedback: As always, greatly desired and usually responded to.  
  
Rating: R Spoilers: I strongly recommend you read "Wrath", "It's Just Allergies", "Life Don't Have to be No Bed of Roses", and "Perfect Opportunity" first.  
  
Distribution: If you want it, just ask.  
  
Summary: Six months later, Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn have finally returned to Gotham. Unfortunately, so has a legendary killer, one who preys on the guilty.  
  
_______________________________  
  
Chapter 4  
  
"So the Joker and this Quinn girl were lovers?"  
  
"Indeed," Talia replied.  
  
Andrea was sitting across from her. Actually, it was more like lounging. In a bizarre twist, she was relaxing in Talia's room with her jailer. She still looked appalled by what Talia had told her. "God, that's horrible. But she's not his lover now? Now she's a lesbian?"  
  
"Apparently so."  
  
"Huh," Andrea replied.  
  
Talia raised an eyebrow. "You do not approve?" she asked.  
  
"Well, I wouldn't dream of judging them," Andrea said. "And I don't think there's anything wrong with it. It's certainly something that's never appealed to me, though."  
  
"I have."  
  
"Have what?" Andrea smirked. "Appealed to me? I doubt it."  
  
Talia chuckled softly. "Sorry, poor use of grammar. But I have been with other women. Intimately."  
  
Andrea looked surprised again. "You're bisexual?"  
  
"Such labels do not apply to me," Talia said idly.  
  
"But you're in love with Bruce, and yet you've slept with women."  
  
"Well," Talia confided, "some time ago, when I first met my beloved, and I realized he was the man I'd been waiting for, I took a solemn oath never to be with any man other than Bruce Wayne."  
  
"Never to be with another man?" Andrea asked, emphasizing the last word.  
  
Talia grinned. "Sometimes, it can be very lonely at home. And there are servants in my father's compound who would consider it a great honor to share a bed with the daughter of the Demon. Not all of those servants are men, however."  
  
"So you've slept with women because you have an itch that needs to be scratched, and you don't want to break your promise, and you're not really gay?" Andrea summarized dubiously.  
  
"I don't think I've ever used such a phrase as 'itch that needs to be scratched' to describe it, but yes," Talia said.  
  
Andrea leaned back. "Are you always this open about yourself?"  
  
Talia's expression sobered. "Tomorrow night," she responded, "you and I will return to Gotham. With us we will have the location of Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn. You will wear the Phantasm's mask, you will find them, and you will kill them. Otherwise, you will go to jail for murder. Unless, of course, organized crime arranges for some sort of accident while you are in prison. Or the Joker does."  
  
Andrea didn't reply.  
  
"I gave you a second chance earlier tonight," Talia continued. "I could have told my father that you had failed to kill the Ventriloquist, and then you would be spending tonight in police custody. Instead, I have seen fit to grant you another opportunity."  
  
"Why? Don't want to go home to daddy and tell him you never made it out of the starting blocks?" Andrea asked harshly.  
  
"I have my pride," Talia retorted. She stopped herself and took a deep breath. "You do not need further training. All you have is to look forward to tomorrow night. So if I seem unusually talkative about myself, it is only because I am trying to take your mind off what you probably don't want to think about."  
  
Andrea looked at her. "Since when did you care about my feelings?"  
  
Talia scowled, but then she sat up defiantly. "Since that Catwoman became much more of a rival than you," she said.  
  
The other woman shook her head, and she smiled. "So I'm not a rival any more? You finally recognize my relationship with Bruce is over?"  
  
"You say you have moved on. I could never leave him," she confided, "but you are obviously different." Then Talia smiled slyly. "And I prefer you as something other than a romantic rival. You are a very pretty woman. Perhaps one day you, too, will consider it a great honor to sleep with me."  
  
Andrea started coughing. "Thanks," she said after a minute. "Forgot about tomorrow night for a second there."  
  
Talia's smile grew, and the topic of conversation changed from there.   
  
_________________________  
  
"Commissioner? He's waking up."  
  
"Thank you, Doctor," Jim Gordon said gruffly. He looked at Renee and Bullock. "You two ready?"  
  
"What's the big deal, Commish?" Harvey Bullock asked, raising the brim of his hat slightly. "We all know the Bat-freak got him."  
  
"I don't know about that, Detective," Gordon replied. "Usually he gives us some indication of what he's done and where they can be found. Tonight, we only knew what happened because people were reporting shots fired in the area."  
  
"I don't recall seeing him anywhere tonight," Renee said thoughtfully as she got her notepad out. "Not that he can't disappear and reappear like a fresh breeze."  
  
Gordon shook his head. "You're right, he has been missing. Maybe he's hurt." He led the others into Arnold Wesker's hospital room.  
  
The far corner of the room was buried in shadow, but it wasn't so dark that he couldn't see the Batman there. "Well, that answers one question," he said, letting the others enter behind him.  
  
"Commissioner," Batman replied.  
  
Bullock muttered something, his disdain for the Batman never a secret.  
  
The doctor turned and saw the Bat. "Good heavens," he said, startled. "How long has he been there?"  
  
"So what happened tonight?" Gordon asked, ignoring the physician.  
  
"I don't know."  
  
Gordon blinked. "You mean you're not responsible for this?" He gestured to the Ventriloquist, who shifted in his bed, his head wrapped in bandages.  
  
"I only found out when I heard the reports on the police scanner," Batman replied truthfully.  
  
"Well," Gordon said. He wasn't sure what else to say.  
  
"Maybe it was one of the baby Bats," Bullock suggested snidely.  
  
"It wasn't."  
  
A grunt from the bed was the first sign that Arnold was nearing the point where he could communicate, and Gordon allowed Montoya to approach his bed. Without the dummy, Wesker was easily intimidated by authority figures, and with that concussion, the doctors didn't want him panicking.  
  
"Arnold," Montoya said quietly. "Wake up, Arnold. You're in the hospital. Arnold?"  
  
Slowly he became aware of her voice. "What happened? Where am I?" he asked.  
  
"You're in the hospital. You're in police custody now."  
  
His eyes looked at her, then moved toward Bullock and the Commissioner. When they spotted the shadowy figure in the corner of the room, Arnold sucked in his breath and cringed. "No, he's back," he whispered.  
  
"Toldja," Bullock said.  
  
But as Batman emerged from the darkness and became clearly visible, Arnold relaxed. "Oh," he said. "It's just you."  
  
Gordon looked at Batman. "Well, that's a first," he murmured.  
  
"Arnold, what happened tonight?" Montoya asked him. "Was it another gang? One of the other patients from Arkham?"  
  
"Mister Scarface," Arnold said, horrified. "He's gone again, thanks to that monster. That horrible, horrible face," he added, shaking his head from side to side.  
  
"What monster?" Batman asked.  
  
"It touched Mister Scarface," Arnold went on, "and he burned up. And it had a face like death. It must have been a devil or something." He wept silently. "Why did it kill Mister Scarface? Why couldn't it have taken me?"  
  
"Oh, for Pete's sake," Bullock groaned, but Montoya shushed him.  
  
"Who?" she asked, turning back to Arnold. "Did it have a name?"  
  
He looked frightened. "It said its name was the Phantasm."  
  
Batman was so shocked to hear that name that he took an involuntary step backward, and his jaw tightened so much that he thought his teeth might crack.  
  
"The Phantasm?" Gordon asked, surprised. "I haven't heard that name in years. I thought the Phantasm was dead. You said he - no, wait, she, you said she was dead, Batman." He glanced at the superhero. "Batman?"  
  
"I'm fine," Batman growled, even though a bowling ball had settled at the pit of his stomach. "And I thought the Phantasm _was_ dead."  
  
"We also thought the Phantasm killed the Joker, but we were wrong about that too," Gordon said, looking at Bullock.  
  
"Just what this city needs," Bullock said disgustedly. "A wacked-out vigilante who kills. We've already got the Huntress. Why couldn't the Phantasm go somewhere else?"  
  
Gordon turned back and saw that, once again, the Bat had managed to slip out without being detected. "Damn," he said. "Batman gave us a name years ago when he said the Phantasm was dead. What the hell was it?" But neither Montoya nor Bullock knew, if they'd ever heard it. "Find out any particulars from Wesker," he said, sighing. "Looks like we go back to the old case files tonight."  
  
_____________________________  
  
Batman concentrated so intently that he never even heard her come from behind. "You haven't moved in ten minutes, you know," she purred in his ear. "I almost took you for a gargoyle."  
  
He didn't move. "Not tonight, Selina," he said quietly.  
  
His peripheral vision could see one long, black boot appear to his right. "So what are we staking out tonight?" Catwoman asked, crossing her arms on one knee. Her whip dangled from one of her hands and caressed his ankle. "Auto thefts? Drug ring? My favorite, jewelry store robbery?" she added with a naughty grin.  
  
Did she have to remind him of that tonight?  
  
She glanced down into the street. "Opium being used as ingredients in bagels?" she murmured, thinking it odd the only thing of note below was a shuttered bagel shop. "Fast hint, they're called poppy seeds."  
  
"Catwoman, do you _mind_? I don't need your little jokes tonight."  
  
His tone of voice was colder than he had wanted it to be, he had condescended to her sense of humor, and he'd called her "Catwoman". He supposed he should be regretting that, and later he probably would, but right now he was trying to digest. She'd been alive. She was _alive_.   
  
And he'd never known. Why hadn't he looked? Had he wanted her to be dead? Had her return scared him that much?  
  
Further introspection was arrested by the discomfort of feeling her claws digging into his forearm as Selina spun him around to look at him. "We're both still learning this couples game," she hissed, her eyes boring into his. "One day we may reach a point where you tell me what's bothering you instead of shutting me out, and where I can find less physical ways of getting you to open up to me. Obviously you haven't reached that point yet, and neither have I."  
  
"Let - go," he said, feeling her claws draw blood.  
  
"If you can say something other than 'go away and leave me alone'," Catwoman said more calmly, "I will."  
  
"The Phantasm is back."  
  
It was so completely different from what he'd said before that she let go instantly. "Who?" she asked curiously.  
  
"That's right, you were in Paris," he said.  
  
"When?"  
  
"Years ago, when someone called the Phantasm went around town murdering Mob figures, and the police thought it was me," he said quietly.  
  
She nodded slowly. "I remember that," she replied. "I thought the idea was, well, insane. A city full of psychopaths obsessed with killing you, and you lose it over a few organized crime farts?" Catwoman chuckled. "You always struck me as having better priorities."  
  
He didn't smile. He smiled more now that they'd gotten together, but he didn't have it in him right now. "It turned out the Phantasm was a woman named Andrea Beaumont. Her father got involved with the Mob and they killed him."  
  
"Vengeance, okay," Selina said. "Vengeance and costumes go hand in hand a lot in this town. Why's it so important? Is she setting you up for another murder?"  
  
"Andrea Beaumont," Batman said heavily, "was once Bruce Wayne's fiancee."  
  
She stared. "Oh," she answered. She sat next to him. "Oh," she repeated. "You know, the way you can refer to Bruce Wayne as this separate identity is not something I've gotten used to," she tried to say lightly.  
  
"I thought she was dead, but now she's back," Batman continued, "and I have to figure out what this means. Selina," he told her, "she was my first love."  
  
She tapped her claws on the rooftop absently. "So is that why you wanted me to leave?" she asked finally. "You want this Andrea back."  
  
"No!" he said immediately. "Of course not."  
  
"Well then?"  
  
"I don't know," he finally admitted. "It needs sorting out. Why is she here now? Does she still want to kill the Joker?"  
  
"Wait, the Joker?" Catwoman thought back. "You know, he was gone for a while when I got back from Paris, but I never bothered to find out why. Was he hiding?"  
  
"No, the Phantasm had him," he said. "At first I thought they had both perished. Then when he returned, I assumed he killed her." Batman looked away. "For a detective, I did a whole lot of assuming when it came to Andrea Beaumont. I'm not even sure if I wanted her alive or dead."  
  
She nodded. "Are you sure it's her?"  
  
"It could be a new Phantasm," he admitted. "I won't know until I find it."  
  
"Would you like my help?"  
  
"Not right now." He finally permitted himself the smallest of smiles. "I probably shouldn't ask the woman I'm involved with to help me find someone who could be my ex-fiancee. I've already seen you with Talia."  
  
Selina's claws stopped tapping. Then, surprising him, she laughed. "Oh hell," she said when she was finished. "She really does know how to push your buttons, doesn't she?"  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Come on, Bruce," she said, smiling grimly, no doubt at the thought of what she would do to Talia. "Your pet stalker Talia shows up in your house, and she finds out about us. Within just a few days, some character shows up in Gotham who might be your ex-fiancee. The al-Ghuls know all about you, don't they? They must know about your engagement?"  
  
He nodded, as images became much more distinct in his mind. She was right, Talia pushed his buttons like a professional.  
  
"I mean, are you trying to tell me you think Talia's return, coinciding with someone pretending to be your ex, is a complete coincidence?" she asked, pretending to be astounded by his gullibility.  
  
"What is she hoping to accomplish?" he asked out loud, clenching his fist.  
  
"I suppose she thinks you'll go mooning after 'Andrea' and we'll break up," she guessed. "And when you rip off the Phantasm's disguise, the first word that greets you will be - "  
  
"Don't say it, _please_ don't say it."  
  
She grinned wickedly. "I'll ask again, can I help now?"  
  
"Considering the things Talia said to you the other day," Batman said prudently, "how can I say no?"  
  
"That's my boy. We'll find her tomorrow night, and . . ."  
  
"No, not tomorrow."  
  
Selina stopped. "Why not?"  
  
"Tomorrow I'm going to track down Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn."  
  
She rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. They're pulling penny-ante crimes. People are saying they're hoping their crimes are so below your notice that you won't come after them."  
  
"I know. Which is why I have to find them." He shook his head. "I told them they'd be better off if they never came back. Besides, I suspect they have something else up their sleeve. They may look like minor incidents, but they must have some sort of plan, and I don't want it to blow up in my face. Or anyone else's."  
  
Catwoman pouted.  
  
Batman took her hand. "On the other hand," he continued, "if you could find out for me where Talia is hiding, I could be appreciative."  
  
She smiled. "If you come to my place right now, we could see just how appreciative you are."  
  
A half-hour ago he would have said no.  
  
A half-hour ago he would have been an idiot.  
  
______________________________  
  
A pleased smile spread across Talia's face the following night as she looked through her binoculars. "This is perfect," she murmured.  
  
"What?" the Phantasm asked, still unsure about what she was going to do when she had Poison Ivy and her lover under control. At least she wasn't dealing with that pathetic little man any more. Anyone who could sleep with the Joker had to be a seriously disturbed woman. And even in Europe, Andrea had heard tales about the rabid eco-terrorist Poison Ivy.  
  
"They will be completely defenseless when you go in," Talia said, although the look on her face suggested to the Phantasm that she was taking too much pleasure in this.  
  
"Why?" Andrea asked in her distorted voice. True, the two women were holed up in an anonymous apartment, not a shithole but not a penthouse either. They were almost certainly alone, because how many hirelings could there be in there?  
  
"Come look," Talia replied, offering her the binoculars.  
  
Andrea took them and looked. Her jaw dropped.  
  
Talia had turned the magnification to the highest level, so that even from the rooftop across the street, she could practically see right into their bedroom. And what she was, judging by the photographs Talia had given her, Harley Quinn naked from the waist up, sitting up in bed.   
  
She couldn't see who was in bed with her because of the headboard. But before she could ask Talia if she was alone in there, she saw a lithe arm rise up and fondle the blonde's left breast. Andrea could almost see Harley shiver before she bent down for what could only be a kiss.  
  
"You're enjoying this way too much," she said, handing them back to Talia.  
  
"Oh, come now," Talia replied. "They won't be armed. They won't even be dressed. They'll be totally vulnerable to attack. They should be dead in no time."  
  
Andrea only growled in response.  
  
"Besides," she added evilly, "considering what we talked about last night . . ."  
  
The Phantasm remained resolutely silent behind the mask. She had been plied with wine and the illusion of female camaraderie, damn it!  
  
"So," Talia mused, leaning against a chimney, "when you said last night that you would consider sleeping with a woman if she was the right one, just how would you define the right one?"  
  
She resisted the urge to bury her hook in Talia's chest. She'd said it just to shut Talia up, she was sure of it. And they'd been up for hours, and the wine made her say stupid things.  
  
"You're right," Talia finally said when she saw Andrea would not reply. She did leisurely stretch, however, showing off her perfectly sculpted figure. "Better not to talk now. Just go in and finish them."  
  
The Phantasm finally looked at her. "If this is going to be their last night," she said firmly, "then let it be their last night together."  
  
"Very well," Talia told her. "Only you can't let the opportunity slip. So you'd better be ready to move in as soon as it appears they're finished." She smirked as she handed the binoculars to Andrea once more.  
  
Biting her lip behind the mask, the Phantasm took it and tried to watch objectively.  
  
Once the other woman emerged as she sat up as well, and the Phantasm could see it was her other target, Poison Ivy, from the brilliant shock of red hair. Mostly, however, she felt like a man in a peepshow as she watched the two women engage in slow, passionate sex.  
  
She tried to ignore the stirrings inside and mentally labeled them as signs of her growing discomfort, nothing else.  
  
Glancing for a moment at Talia, she gritted her teeth as the Demon's daughter licked her lips slowly, her eyes sparkling salaciously.  
  
And if her breathing was a little ragged, Talia could try wearing the mask of the Phantasm for an extended period of time and see how well she breathed.  
  
"Is it over?" Talia asked as Andrea put the binoculars away, wondering why she was being so aggressively flirtatious just to annoy her. Getting her angry perhaps wasn't the best idea.  
  
But she had envied Andrea her opportunity to watch the other women alone together.  
  
"It's over," the Phantasm said. "And it's over."  
  
Then she immersed herself in smoke and was gone.  
  
Talia adjusted the microphone attached to the side of her head and picked up the rifle.  
  
___________________________________  
  
They were insane, Andrea told herself. They had killed people. And if she didn't do this, she herself would die in prison. If Talia didn't kill her first.  
  
She had no idea what would happen next, however, as she emerged from the darkness.  
  
Neither woman noticed her at first. She saw much more than she could have with the binoculars. Their bodies were intertwined in the sheets, and that was a good thing, because it would be that much harder to run away. Both their bodies and the sheets were also soaked in sweat.  
  
Harley Quinn, she also saw, had a more trim physique. Ivy's curves, meanwhile, were undeniably very sexy, the kind any man would become weak looking at. They looked more tired than anything, however. They panted, wrapped in each other's arms.  
  
Talia said they were in love. Did they know the meaning of the word? Did Talia? Did she?  
  
"Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn," she finally intoned. She'd stared at the tableau too long. Talia was undoubtedly smirking as she watched.  
  
A moment ago they were the image of languor. Now they bolted up in their bed. "Batman?" Harley squeaked before she got a good look.  
  
"Who are you?" Ivy demanded, not even bothering to cover her breasts or her erect nipples with a sheet.  
  
Andrea was momentarily taken aback by yet another angle of their luscious nudity. "I," she finally said, "am the Phantasm."  
  
Harley gasped.  
  
Ivy looked at the Phantasm coolly. "I hear you almost killed the Joker. I'm very sorry you failed."  
  
"If she had, I never would have become Harley Quinn," Harley reminded her. "And then I never would have met you."  
  
"You do have a point."  
  
"Just shut up, both of you!"  
  
They stopped talking. Their shoulders touched as Harley drew imperceptibly behind Ivy.  
  
"The Joker escaped my wrath once," Andrea said. "He shall not do so again. Neither will the rest of the filth that makes this city a cesspool of corruption."  
  
"Did you and Oswald take the same elocution lessons?" Ivy asked.  
  
The Phantasm held up its hand so that they could see the curving blade. "I am not Batman. I am not the Dark Knight. Rather, I am your eternal night."  
  
Harley trembled while Ivy tried to think of a response. Her body betrayed her, however, as she felt a familiar surge - not now! - welling up inside her stomach.  
  
Andrea kicked aside their pile of clothes with one foot. "Unarmed, defenseless, you should just give up. I would not wish to prolong your suffering."  
  
"Why not, it's what we've been doing," Ivy murmured as she practically fell out of bed and scrambled on all fours for the door nearby.  
  
The Phantasm smoothly interposed herself between her and the door, burying the point of her hook in the wood so that it splintered. "You abandon your lover so easily? I'm not surprised." She opened it slightly to see what manner of room she was heading toward.  
  
The bathroom?  
  
Ivy knelt before the Phantasm, putting her hands over her mouth. Desperately she turned toward the corner of the room and threw up violently.  
  
Harley watched her, a woeful expression on her face.  
  
Andrea was mystified. "Do I scare you that much?"  
  
Ivy crouched on the floor and could only laugh helplessly, a shaking laughter rendered breathless by her gasping lungs.  
  
"She has AIDS."  
  
The Phantasm whirled about to stare at Harley.  
  
"And I have HIV," Harley added somberly. "In six months we'll be dead together."  
  
Looking into the bathroom again, this time Andrea noticed the pill vials scattered all over the sink.  
  
"My God," Andrea whispered. She was telling the truth.  
  
To be continued . . .  
  
(Author's Note - _please_ keep reading! Much will be made clear.) 


	5. Chapter Five

Title: The Spirit and the Flesh (5/??)  
  
Author: Allaine  
  
Email: eac2nd@yahoo.com  
  
Disclaimers: Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy, along with the other residents of Gotham, are the property of DC Comics, the creators of "Batman: The Animated Series", and God knows who else. All other characters are my invention. And if you have a problem with women who love each other, then this story is not for you. Feedback: As always, greatly desired and usually responded to.  
  
Rating: R Spoilers: I strongly recommend you read "Wrath", "It's Just Allergies", "Life Don't Have to be No Bed of Roses", and "Perfect Opportunity" first.  
  
Distribution: If you want it, just ask.  
  
Summary: Six months later, Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn have finally returned to Gotham. Unfortunately, so has a legendary killer, one who preys on the guilty.  
  
_______________________________  
  
Chapter 5  
  
"Shouldn't she be in a hospital?" the Phantasm asked as Ivy climbed back into their bed.  
  
Ivy scoffed. "They can't help me," she said. "I can hardly help myself. All I can do is cling to these last few months by my fingertips."  
  
"That's why we came back to Gotham," Harley said. "Thumb our noses at the cops, mess with the Bat's head, the thrill of escaping. We're not evil, we're just . . . well, naughty." The tip of her nose rubbed against Ivy's, but then she grimaced. "Ewww, vomit breath."  
  
"So you're not planning some major attack on the city?" Andrea asked. "No kidnapping, no rabid plant outbreaks, no bomb threats?"  
  
Ivy chuckled. "Do you see any major plans lying around? Does this look like a secret lab?"  
  
The Phantasm looked around. It seemed pretty boring, actually. "But how can you be dying? Maybe twenty years ago, but medicine has advanced so much. And I was told you were immune to toxins and diseases."  
  
Harley looked away.  
  
"It was given to me," Ivy said calmly. "I am immune to poison, but I can get sick. Only on occasion, thanks to the experimentation performed on me so long ago that changed my DNA. But this virus has been genetically manipulated and spliced with a rare strain of disease that only affects plants. Someone got a hold of my blood and created a disease that attacks on two fronts. My immune system is focusing on the plant rot and keeping it at bay, but the HIV is stampeding through my body. I'm on a triple cocktail of medications, but it's adding weeks, not years, to my lifespan. I'm all right for now, but sooner or later, even my immune system is going to give up. And then the collapse will be . . . quite rapid." Her voice bore the marks of clinical detachment, but it broke on the last two words.  
  
"Who . . . gave it to you?"  
  
Ivy gave her a scornful look. "Who do you think? An old friend of yours, that's who."  
  
"The Joker," the Phantasm realized.  
  
"We believed he'd never leave Gotham while his archenemy the Batman lived," Ivy confirmed. "But we were wrong. He caught up with us, captured us while we were sleeping. Worked me over pretty good so Harley could watch," she said matter-of-factly.  
  
Harley involuntarily shuddered at some memory.  
  
"Then he injected me with something and left," Ivy added. "It took a day or two before I was diagnosed."  
  
The Phantasm stared at her. "Injected you? Then how did she get it? You didn't pass it along, did you?" She pointed at Harley.  
  
"No!" Ivy said, horrified. "You think I would let that happen? Besides, the modifications made to the virus are very specific. It won't affect people whose DNA are one hundred percent human." She stopped and looked at Harley. "For reasons I will never accept, Harley did this to herself."  
  
Across the street, Talia continued to listen over the Phantasm's microphone, transfixed.  
  
"To herself?" the Phantasm asked haltingly.  
  
"I infected myself," Harley whispered. "Got some HIV-positive blood and injected it. It was my idea. It's my fault Ivy's like this anyway."  
  
Ivy's face twisted with an agony that was not illness-induced. "Harley," she said helplessly. "Please stop saying that."  
  
"It's true, isn't it?" Harley asked. "If I'd never left the Joker for you, he never would have bothered you, and . . ."  
  
"Harley, please!" Ivy cried. "I can't spend the last days of my life watching you punish yourself for something you don't deserve. How do you think _I_ feel, knowing you sentenced yourself to death because of me?!" She was starting to become incoherent as the tears flowed freely. "And you won't even take medication for it!"  
  
"Don't want to live after you're gone," Harley said stubbornly. "What's the point?"  
  
The Phantasm watched as the two women argued, seemingly unable to relieve each other's irrational guilt. They'd forgotten she was even there.  
  
And why was she there? Oh, right, to take what little time these miserable women had left together, and thereby keep her own rear end out of prison. Killing them would be a blessing, wouldn't it?  
  
Revolted, the Phantasm removed the hook from her hand and hurled it to the floor.  
  
Ivy and Harley quieted instantly and looked at the Phantasm warily.  
  
The Phantasm leaned against the wall and slowly pulled her mask off.  
  
"Hey, it's a she," Harley said, surprised.  
  
"Andrea, you fool!" Talia snapped. She would kill those women if Talia had to put the gun in Andrea's hand and make her pull the trigger! Slinging her rifle onto her back, she prepared to fire a grappling hook that would enable her to swing across to the other building. Why couldn't she have a device that let her disappear in a puff of smoke?  
  
Andrea didn't say anything. She just breathed and tried to control her own stomach. She had no right to pass a death sentence on these women, or on anyone else. To put her own life above others would bring her down to these maniacs' level. That was a lesson she'd thought she learned years before. Apparently, however, she wasn't as strong as she'd thought.  
  
At least maybe she was strong enough.  
  
There was a click, and Andrea looked up. Poison Ivy was pointing a gun at her. "You bitch," she said wearily. "You were lying."  
  
"I was telling the truth," Ivy sneered as she kneeled on the bed, wiping her soaked cheeks with her other hand. "Do you really think I'll give up what little time I have left with her? I would kill you for one more _day_ with her."  
  
"I'm sorry," Andrea said. "I thought I didn't have a choice."  
  
"A choice? A choice of what?"  
  
The window shattered inward and the three women flinched backward. Talia tumbled into the apartment and quickly came up one knee, pointing her rifle at Ivy's head. "Put - it - down," she growled.  
  
"YOU?!" Ivy hissed, shocked. "What is this? Does every woman in this damned city want us dead?!"  
  
"Talia, don't," Andrea pleaded, holding a hand out.  
  
"Shut up," Talia replied.  
  
"Talia?" Harley asked, surprised. "The Demon's daughter? The one who - "  
  
"The one who came to me with a job offer," Ivy finished for her. "Looks like these two are partners."  
  
"You should have accepted the offer, Isley," Talia said coolly. "The Joker never would have gotten to you if you'd been with us."  
  
"Perhaps," Ivy said. "But I'll kill your friend if you try anything."  
  
"Go ahead," Andrea muttered. "I'm dead anyway."  
  
Talia smiled. "She is right, Isley. She will go to prison, and she will die, unless you die tonight. You and your lover both."  
  
Ivy looked back at Andrea. "That's the choice you were talking about?" she asked.  
  
Andrea nodded.  
  
"Hm," she said. "She bursts in like she's here to save you, and it turns out you have more to fear from her than us. Ironic . . . but workable, I think."  
  
The Phantasm stared at Ivy, who raised an eyebrow. Without another word, Andrea's hand moved to her waist, and she was instantly surrounded by dense smoke.  
  
"What? No!" Talia swore and turned her body, firing into the gas that the Phantasm had been swallowed by.  
  
Ivy moved her arm casually and fired at Talia. The assassin was struck in the shoulder and flew backward, hitting the wall and dropping her rifle. She fell onto her palms and held herself up for a moment before blacking out and slumping to the floor.  
  
"Where'd she go?" Harley asked, amazed.  
  
The Phantasm was gone. Only her mask remained.  
  
"Who cares?" Ivy answered. "She's running from Ra's now. She doesn't have time to waste on us. Which leaves us to deal with her," she added coldly. "Let's get dressed."  
  
_____________________________________  
  
Andrea found herself on the roof of the building. She felt instantly nauseous and, leaning over, vomited behind an air-conditioning unit.  
  
When her stomach was back under control, she stood up and tried to think of what to do next. If she went to the police, she'd end up in prison for the Phantasm murders years before, as well as the recent attack on Scarface. If she went to Bruce . . . maybe he would help her. And maybe he'd turn her over to the authorities afterward.  
  
But Ra's al-Ghul would see to it that she was killed, especially now that his daughter had been injured and was now at the mercies of Quinn and Ivy. They could torture or kill her with impunity. After all, what was he going to do, kill them? They were already dying. Ra's would still be alive long after their bones had turned to dust.  
  
Andrea paused. Talia had told her of how her father had lived for centuries with the help of the "Lazarus Pits" he'd created, pools of liquid that brought life back to the dead, and youth back to the aged. Certainly if Talia was killed and her father recovered the body quickly enough, she could be resurrected. Not that it would help her any.  
  
But if the Pits had such powers . . .  
  
Taking a deep breath, she used her suit's most special power one more time.  
  
_____________________  
  
Talia glared murderously at Ivy as Harley finished tying her to a chair. Her top glistened with blood as it clung to the shoulder wound. "The police will respond to shots being fired," she growled.  
  
"Then we don't have much time, do we?" Ivy asked. "Why did you come to kill us?" she demanded.  
  
"Even if I was going to tell you, it would be irrelevant," Talia sniffed.  
  
"Are her ropes tight?" Ivy asked Harley.  
  
"Right-a-roonie," Harley replied.  
  
"Good." Ivy grabbed Talia by the shoulder and ground her thumb against the bullet wound. Talia clenched her teeth and writhed in pain, unable to break free of her bonds.  
  
"Why are you trying to kill us?" Ivy asked again.  
  
"As . . ." Talia began, breathing heavily. "As a gift to the Batman."  
  
Ivy and Harley looked at each other, then back at her. "Wouldn't chocolates have been enough?" Harley asked.  
  
"You were not the only targets," Talia replied. "All of Batman's deadliest adversaries were to be eliminated. Perhaps then the Batman would no longer need to remain in this filthy city. We used the Phantasm to place the blame elsewhere."  
  
"Christ, Talia," Ivy said, shaking her head. "We had that talk years ago, and you're still hung up on the Bat. Arkham would do you wonders."  
  
"And if Batsy wanted us dead," Harley added, "he'd have done it himself."  
  
"To top it all off," Ivy pointed out, "your Phantasm just doesn't have the guts any more."  
  
"Kill enough people, it'll happen."  
  
Before Ivy could even turn around, Andrea had already placed the curve of her sharp hook around Harley's neck from behind. Harley felt the steel against her skin and her eyes went wide. "Red," she whispered, frightened. "She's baaack."  
  
Talia's lips curved upward in a half-smile. "Once she had time to think, she knew her only option was for you to die."  
  
"Nobody has to die," Andrea said icily, glaring at Talia. "Even the two of you."  
  
"Everybody has to die," Ivy snarled, her gun hanging uselessly because Andrea was using Harley as a human shield as well as a hostage. "Us especially, without you two or not."  
  
"No, I don't think so," Andrea replied thoughtfully. "If the two of you help me, I think there's a way to cure your illnesses."  
  
Talia stared at Andrea for a moment before she gasped. "It will never work," she said.  
  
"What won't work?" Ivy asked.  
  
"The Lazarus Pits," Andrea said. "If they can bring a dead man back to life, then Ra's al-Ghul's Lazarus Pits can certainly cure your AIDS."  
  
"Those pits are in secret locations," Talia retorted.  
  
"Which you know," Andrea replied.  
  
Talia shook with rage. "And they're heavily guarded. If you're so intent on clinging to these last few weeks of life, then attempting such a suicidal mission would be insane."  
  
Harley and Ivy looked at each other, and even with the blade at her neck, Harley's eyes flickered with hope. "Maybe it's true, Red."   
  
Ivy raised her gun once more, putting it to Talia's head. "Is it true?" she asked. "_If_ we got past your precious security, could it save us?"  
  
Talia bared her teeth at Ivy. "Yes," she hissed. "Even you could be cured."  
  
Ivy let the gun fall again as the blood rushed into her cheeks. "My God," she whispered.  
  
"I say we make an arrangement," Andrea suggested calmly. "I help the two of you find one of these Pits, and you keep Talia's father from killing me."  
  
"Why do we need you?" Ivy asked.  
  
"Because unlike you, I'm in perfect health. And as we've seen, I can get into places you can't."  
  
Ivy nodded. "We could come to an understanding - if you let Harley go _right now_, that is."  
  
Andrea hesitated for a moment before carefully moving the hook away from Harley's neck and letting her go. Harley scrambled away from the Phantasm and ran into Ivy's arms.  
  
"It appears she was right, Talia," Ivy said in a voice that was almost gay. "None of us will be dying tonight. Not even you."  
  
Talia scowled.  
  
"Uh, Red? Police?"  
  
"Of course, you're right. So, Phantasm, think you could help us get our reluctant ally out of here?"  
  
"My name is Andrea," Andrea shot back.  
  
"Is that a yes?"  
  
Andrea sighed. She certainly couldn't go to Batman now. "Yes."  
  
_______________________________  
  
  
  
"You should have kept running," Talia informed her. "If you think my father will be angered by your failure to kill even one name on his list, wait until he finds you have attempted to commandeer one of the few remaining Lazarus Pits in the world."  
  
"You should be thankful I didn't," Andrea replied as she finished bandaging Talia's shoulder. The other woman winced briefly. "Otherwise they would have killed you."  
  
Talia sniffed. "I have been in worse places. I could have taken care of them."  
  
"That may be," Andrea said, "but I owed you for the incident with Saheed and the electrified collar too." She frowned. "Even if you were going to kill me anyway, I couldn't let you die. I'm not like you."  
  
Ra's' daughter glared at her. "Obviously not. Or you wouldn't have decided to cast your lot with a pair of lunatics. Who, I might add, you've allowed to take control of my safe house!"  
  
"Your father's safe house," Andrea corrected her. "And it's your father's guards who are locked away so they can't contact anyone. Let's not forget the fact that you're as much a slave to your father as I was."  
  
"It's called filial duty," Talia snapped. "Surely the Phantasm can respect that?"  
  
Andrea sighed. Her father's death _had_ been a driving factor in the birth of the Phantasm. "I suppose you're right," she acknowledged. "Maybe I should just stop talking. I'm no good at these dramas."  
  
Talia laughed bitterly as she tried to adjust her handcuffs into a more comfortable position. "You seem to be faring better than I," she said. "What - what do they plan for me?" she then asked.  
  
"As long as they need you to gain access to a Lazarus Pit," Andrea replied, "you're in no danger."  
  
"Ah, but should my usefulness be at an end, then my life will be forfeit?"  
  
"That was your plan for me, wasn't it?" Andrea suddenly snarled at her. "Yours and your father's?"  
  
Talia drew back slightly. "I did not relish the prospect," she did admit. "After I realized that you were no longer my 'competition', I wanted you to succeed so that you might live."  
  
"Well, if we succeed, you'll live too," Andrea promised. "I won't let them hurt you if you keep your part of the bargain."  
  
" . . . Thank you."  
  
"Cute. Sort of a reverse Stockholm Syndrome."  
  
Andrea and Talia pulled away from each other when they heard Poison Ivy's sardonic voice. "What happens next?" Andrea asked. "When do we leave?"  
  
"Not for a day or two," Ivy replied. "I think the four of us have something to do in Gotham before we leave."  
  
"What?" Andrea asked, alarmed at the prospect of tempting fate by remaining in Batman's city.  
  
"Something we can all get something out of," Ivy told them. "Something that will even make Daddy Warbucks happy and maybe get him off your back, Andrea."  
  
Harley appeared next to her. Her normally cheerful demeanor had been replaced by something more serious and intense. "We," she said, "are going to kill my Puddin'."  
  
To be continued (I promise!) . . . 


End file.
